an idea whose time has come
by airbefore
Summary: A collection of filled prompts.
1. the thing with feathers

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work in an interpretation of the origianl material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be libelous, defamtory or in any way factual.

 **Note:** This will be a collection of stories written to fulfill tumblr prompts I receive. The prompt, in most cases, will be posted before the story. All stories are self-contained stand alones unless otherwise noted.

* * *

 _45\. Tell me a secret._

 _(Post ep for 4x11 - Till Death Do Us Part)_

The bubbles shimmer in the glow from the twinkle lights and Kate giggles. She dips the plastic wand back into the tube, swirling the open end through the liquid before pulling it out again. Her lips tingle when she puckers to blow, the breath from her lungs so much warmer than the cool night air. Iridescent globes float up to meet the stars and she smiles at them, her cheeks aching.

Soft music wafts out from the reception hall and she sways to the beat. Dewy blades of grass tickle the soles of her feet as she waltzes, her body loose with alcohol. She lost her shoes somewhere between her third glass of champagne and the country line dancing she's too giddy to be ashamed of.

Oh, how she loves weddings.

She was never the one to plan her dream wedding, cutting out pictures from magazines or making tapes of love songs to dance to at the reception. She doesn't know what her bouquet will look like or her dress or how she'll want to wear her hair. All she knows is that when it's her turn, it will be amazing. It will be perfect. It will be for keeps.

It will be with him.

"There you are."

Kate makes the final turn of her solo waltz, the hem of her dress brushing against her thighs. The ache in her cheeks grows when she sees him standing there, backlit by the muted yellow glow of candles, tie hanging loose around his neck. Her shoes dangle from the tips of his fingers and a tiny bomb detonates somewhere inside her chest.

"Come dance with me," she says, a hand raised to beckon him when the music switches to some pop song she's never heard before.

Castle chuckles, his face soft and open. "I think you've danced enough for one night."

The curled ends of her hair rustle between her shoulder blades when she shakes her head, hips shimmying with the beat. "No such thing."

"Come on, Dancing Queen," Castle says, laughing and jerking his head toward the door. "You can feel the beat from the tambourine another night."

Kate pokes out her lower lip in a pout. "You're no fun."

He laughs again, that deep real one that never fails to make her stomach flip. Heat flushes across her chest when he steps forward and takes her outstretched hand. Her limbs turn to jelly and he pulls her in, the backs of her own shoes hitting her in the thigh as his arm circles her waist. Her body bumps against his and she drops the little heart shaped bottle of bubbles.

"Oh, I'm plenty fun, Detective," he says, voice low and gravely in her ear. Goosebumps raise up along her arms and it's all she can do not to tilt her head back and kiss him, to take a sip of the whisky she can smell on his breath. "I assure you. But it's late and I'm pretty sure the wait staff is going to start a riot soon if we don't leave." His nose brushes against her temple and Kate feels her eyes flutter. "Car's waiting out front. Gotta get you home before we both turn into pumpkins."

"The carriage turns into a pumpkin," she argues, her brain fuzzy with alcohol and him. "Not the people."

His chest vibrates with laughter and she feels it all the way down to her toes. "How could I have forgotten?" She barely swallows her disappointed whine when he steps back. "Come on then, Cinderella," he invites, arm still hovering at her waist. "Your chariot awaits."

They make their way back through the hall, laughing at Esposito having a breakdance battle with one of Jenny's cousins. Castle snags a couple of bottles of water from a bucket by the door. He passes one to Kate and she downs it in three large gulps, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"Want mine too?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. She tries to glare at him but her face seems to only be able to smile tonight and really she's okay with that.

He ushers her into the backseat of the town car and Kate sighs as the warmth of the interior sinks into her skin, chasing away the chill. She stops halfway across the bench and Castle slides in next to her, his thigh pressed along the length of hers. He drops her shoes on the floor and Kate snakes her arm through the crook of his elbow, lets her body list into his side. The car starts to roll and she stares out the window, unfocused eyes watching the lights slip past.

"Wanna know a secret?"

She can hear the grin in his voice when he answers. "Of course."

"I love weddings," she breathes, her cheek resting on his bicep.

"I never would have guessed that about you," Castle murmurs, hands resting loosely in his lap.

She wants to reach out and untangle his fingers. To guide his hand to her knee, let him cup the rounded cap in his palm while his thumb draws meaningless patterns against the side of her calf. She wants to touch him. To slip her hand inside the unbuttoned placket of his shirt, feel the heat of his skin against her own. She wants to kiss him, to let him taste the effervescence of her happiness as it explodes on the tip of her tongue.

She wants to love him.

Openly and without fear. Like Jenny and Ryan. Like her parents. Like all the other happy couples meandering through their lives. Together.

"They're beautiful." She can hear the dopey, slurred awe in her own voice. "Doesn't matter how fancy or plain, a wedding is always beautiful. So much love and hope and happiness." Kate sighs, her damaged heart desperate for relief. "It's just- Marriage is - It's beautiful," she repeats, her internal thesaurus champagne-logged and useless.

"It is," Castle agrees, low and gentle. "When it lasts."

"Shhh," she breathes, reaching up to shush him. The backs of her fingers brush across his lips and she lingers, hand hanging by his cheek. Castle rescues her, his thick fingers circling hers and pulling her arm down to rest across his lap. She keeps possession of his fingers, twisting her own between them. "That's sad," she says, eyes slipping closed. "Tonight is happy. Be happy with me, Castle."

She feels him nod, his jaw brushing against the top of her head. "Okay."

His cologne tickles her nose and she takes a deep breath, filling herself up with him. They ride in silence, the roar of the road and the heat of his body lulling her into a trance of contentment.

"Your turn," she murmurs and Castle dips his head.

"My turn for what?"

"Tell me a secret," she mumbles, sleep weighing down her voice. "I told you one."

He doesn't answer. Kate lets out a sigh, her breath growing deeper and longer. It's okay. She doesn't need his secrets. Not tonight. Tonight she just needs this. Him. Them. Her spine goes loose and she lets the full weight of her body sink into his. Castle shifts. Impossibly soft lips brush against her forehead. She's dancing on the edge of sleep when he speaks. Whispers.

Promises.

"Ours will last."

The corners of her mouth curl up in a sleepy smile.

She knows.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are always appreciated._


	2. more courage to live

_30\. It's not what it looks like..._

Blood runs down the palm of her hand, thin rivers coursing through the shallow lines carved into her skin. It drips off the tips of her fingers and into the sink, stains the porcelain pink. She dabs at the wound on her wrist with a damp paper towel, trying to staunch the flow. Discarded gause litters the floor, the cotton weave stained a dark maroon.

The edges of the cut won't stop seeping. Kate presses hard against the torn flesh, hissing through her teeth. But she doesn't stop, doesn't release the pressure. She needs it. Need the stinging reminder of just how bad last night had been.

The locker room door swings open and she jumps, water splashing up onto her tank top. Her elbow slams into the edge of the sink as she tries to submerge her arm under the faucet. The last thing she needs is to have more rumors swirling about how unstable she is.

"Beckett?"

Shit. Shit shit _shit_.

This cannot be happening.

"You in here? Espo said you came down- "

Castle rounds the corner and stumbles to a halt. The color drains from his face and he reaches toward her with a trembling hand. Kate lets him come, her eyelids slipping shut when his warm, soft fingers close around her elbow. He lifts her arm with a touch far more gentle than she deserves and her throat swells with tears.

"Kate." The anguish in his tone makes her sway on the spot and his other hand wraps around her hip, holding her steady. "What -" He trails off, adam's apple bobbing as he stares at the long, jagged cut down her forearm. She knows what he sees. What he's thinking.

"It's not what it looks like."

Castle's eyes float up to meet her own and the sheen she sees there makes her want to pull him close. Wrap her damaged self around him and hold on until they're both whole again. She takes a half a step closer to him, her free hand itching to reach up and caress his cheek.

"I cut myself," she says and he makes a pained choking noise.

"I can see that."

"It wasn't on purpose," she says, her gaze dropping from his. She stares at a tiny dark spot on his light purple shirt, a souvenir from his morning coffee. "I didn't -"

She can't say wouldn't. Not after this summer. Not after the months of agony and night terrors and the weekend she spent with her pain medicine laid out on the nightstand, a row of little white executioners ready and waiting.

She can't say wouldn't.

But she didn't.

"Kate."

"I didn't," she insists, voice stronger this time. She give in, lets her left hand raise to rest on his chest. She can feel the thundering of his heart and some baser part of her brain wakes, sending shivers of want skittering down her spine. "I broke a glass, Castle. That's all."

His hand slides down her arm, thumb sweeping around the uneven edges of the cut. "You broke a glass."

The disbelief in his tone slices like a knife in between her ribs. He doesn't trust her to tell the truth. Of course he doesn't.

He shouldn't.

Goddammit.

"Rick," she breathes, her fingertips curling around the crisp edge of his shirt pocket. His eyes dart up to hers, the blue so deep that she has trouble remembering what she wanted to say. Her heart flutters somewhere near her esophagus. "I broke a glass. I was -"

She swallows. There's nothing left to do but say it. Give him what little truth she can.

"I have PTSD." The hand at her hip tightens. "Last night was bad. But I made it." She stares into his eyes, fighting hard against her instincts to run as fast and far as she can. "I'm okay."

Castle drops his gaze to her arm again, his thumb still rubbing soft circles around the bony protrusion of her wrist. "You broke a glass."

Kate nods.

"Why didn't you call me?"

He sounds like a heartbroken child and she hates herself anew for what she's done to him.

"I couldn't," she answers.

"Yes, you could have. You know I -"

"I would have hurt you."

She's as certain of that as she is her own name. And had she hurt him -

The cuts on her arms wouldn't be from broken glass.

Kate breathes in through her nose, counting to ten before she begins her exhale. She watches his chest, sees it start to expand and contract in time with her own. They stand in silence. Breathing. Together.

The opening of the locker room door breaks the spell. Castle eases her injured arm back down to her side and the hand on her waist falls away. He bends over, gathering her discarded jacket and shirt from the floor.

"Come on," he says, turning toward the door. "I'm taking you to the doctor."

"Castle-"

He looks back at her and she can see it all right there in his eyes. Everything he wants to say but can't. Because she won't let him.

"Please, Kate."

She steps forward, injured arm curled around her middle. Castle's eyes go wide when she slips her free hand into his. Squeezing his fingers, Kate nods.

She can't love him. Not yet, not the way they both want. She can't hold him or kiss him or let him be there on the nights when she's drunk off her ass and crawling through broken glass. But this - this she can do.

For him.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	3. no exercise better for the heart

_41\. You did all this for me?_

 _(Set mid to late season 4, pre-47 Seconds)_

Castle sags against the wall of the elevator, the handle of his suitcase pressing into his leg. He runs a hand through his hair and winces at the greasy slick of it against his fingertips. Sighing, he closes his eyes, too tired to watch the digital display as it counts him closer to home. Worst week ever.

Okay, that's an exaggeration.

The week he spent alone in a dingy apartment in Middle of Nowhere, Oregon because his mother forgot about spring break and booked herself a cruise was pretty crappy. Spending seven days sleeping on the floor of his toddler's bedroom because she had bronchitis and he had been convinced she'd cough to death in her sleep had not been a picnic. The endless string of summer weeks he spent waiting on a phone call that never came had all sucked pretty thoroughly.

In the grand scheme of things, a week of travel delays and painful business meetings with boring people in boring suits isn't that bad. The food had been decent and he did manage to make the suits laugh a time or two. The book readings had gone well, aside from the one that had to be cancelled because some jackhole decided it'd be funny to stage a fake murder scene outside the front door of the bookstore. Not cool.

All together, it wasn't a bad trip. No plane or car crashes. He didn't get robbed or publicly embarrassed. No one died or was maimed. He was safe and productive and successful.

He was lonely.

It wasn't a new experience for him. All of his life, he'd been the sad clown. He learned early to use his wit and intelligence as shields against the world, his real feelings hidden by a wide grin and a pithy one liner. It was a routine he knew by heart but of which he had grown weary.

The two bright spots in his days had come in the form of telephone calls, one in the morning and one each night.

He woke up to the sound of his daughter's cheerful chirp as she told him all about the amazing adventures she was having on the European jaunt his mother had talked him into funding. It was forty-five minutes of pure enthusiasm and that special brand of uninhibited joy only teenager are able to achieve. The perfect way to begin the day. But as much as he loves his daughter, it was the evening call he looked forward to most.

Kate.

It had shocked him that first night when her face showed up on the caller ID. He'd answered as fast his the phone would let him, heart jackrabbiting against his ribs and expecting the worst. The shyness in her voice that first night still makes his stomach clench. She never said it, but he knew. She missed him. And dear God, did he miss her.

And so they developed a routine. Each night she would call, the rich honey of her voice pouring down the line and soothing whatever pains the day had left. Their conversations flowed with an ease that surprised him, even though it shouldn't have. Never in his life has he felt more comfortable in his own skin than when they're together. Even though they aren't actually together.

Not yet, anyway.

The elevator dings and his eyes pop open, little white squiggly lines floating through his field of vision. He stumbles in his attempt to exit the lift, tripping over the suitcase he somehow forgot about and landing face down on the carpeted hallway. The elevator doors bounce off his calves in their attempt to close and he yelps. Scrambling to his feet, Castle manages to get himself and his suitcase out into the hall, muscles jumpy with adrenaline. Hands still shaking, he gathers himself and commences the short walk to his front door.

With each step, his legs grow heavier. The thought of walking into his empty home makes his stomach twist. As exhausted as he is, the last thing he wants tonight is to be alone. But his family won't be home for two days and he can't call Kate, no matter how much the idea makes his skin tingle with anticipation. He won't push her. She'll come to him in her own time, her own way.

Castle pulls the key ring from his pocket, his fingers operating on muscle memory to locate the correct key and insert it into the lock. He pushes open the door and the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He takes a deep breath, pulling in the familiar scent of home along with something else. Something spicy and rich and -

The suitcase thumps hard against the marble floor in the entryway when he drops it, his body no longer obeying his commands as he takes in the sight of Kate sitting on his couch, her hair pulled back in a braid and face free of makeup.

"Hey."

The shyness in her voice has him stutter stepping across the room. He crashes into the back of the sofa and she laughs, chin dipping toward her chest.

"Ka - Beckett," he says, finding his words. "What are you doing here?" The harshness of the phrasing grates against his ears and he rushes to soften it. "Not that I'm mad that you are or don't want you to be here. You can be here whenever you want. As much -"

"Castle," Kate chuckles, giving him a reprieve from his own rambling. She pats the cushion next to her, inviting him to sit on his own couch. "Come eat."

Castle's eyes flit to the coffee table, the top laden with such a glut of food that he imagine the legs must be bowing in protest. Burgers and fries from Remy's, lasagna from the Italian place he loves but everyone else hates, egg drop soup, various Indian dishes, pizza from Stefano's, cookies from the Polish bakery they discovered while on a case one rainy day last fall, a pie that he thinks might just be homemade. His stomach aches just looking at all of it.

Coming around to sit next on the couch, he stares at her, mouth filling up with everything he's been swallowing down for the past eight months. Kate dips her chin again, looking up at him through the fringe of her eyelashes. A pink flush creeps across the apples of her cheeks and it takes all of his ever decreasing willpower not to kiss it away.

"You did all this for me?" He can hear the awe in his words, the sheer wonderment at coming home to this. To her. "Why?"

Kate shrugs one shoulder, fingers twisted into a knot in her lap, and Castle has to strain to hear the answer she directs at the floor. "You were sad about coming home to an empty apartment. I just wanted to make you -" she shrugs again - "less sad."

Her body jerks when he reaches out to cover her hands with one of his but she doesn't pull away. Castle waits, watches the blush spread down her throat and out over her collarbones. When she finally looks up at him, he smiles, his cheeks burning from the width of it.

"It worked."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Definitely less sad now."

The urge to kiss her, to take her face in his hands and show exactly how less sad she makes him, surges up through his chest, violent and raw. Castle closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. He counts to five and exhales. Giving her hand one last squeeze, Castle lets go and turns toward the coffee table, reaching for the first bag he sees.

"I'm starving," he says, unwrapping a hamburger. "Plane food sucks."

Kate reaches for a dish of her own, mouth parted in a laugh, and he feels butterflies rippling in his stomach. He takes an oversized bite of the burger and give a theatrical moan of appreciation. Kate rolls her eyes at him, one leg pulled up under her body as she dips her spoon into a bowl of daal. Contentment settles over the room like a warm blanket and Castle grins into his half-melted milkshake.

They'll get there eventually.

Of that he has no doubt.

But tonight, they eat.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	4. home is everything you can walk to

**AN:** This was written and posted on Tumblr well before the finale and as such this is most definitely not meant to be a post-S8 fic.

* * *

 _1 ."Come over here and make me."_

He can hear her grunting through the thick, industrial doors. Castle leans against the wall, eyes screwed shut and fists clenching with each of her gut-wrenching groans. He swallows it down, resists the urge to burst in and scoop her up, carry her home to their bed.

Or what used to be their bed, anyway.

"Come on, Captain. You can do this. Ten steps. "

"I can't."

The defeat in her voice has him moving. She will not quit. Not now. Not after everything.

Her head jerks up when the metal handles of the door rattle. Sweat drips from the tip of her nose as she stares at him, her torso encased in a hard plastic brace and knuckles white where she grips the blond wood of the parallel bars. He can see the muscles in her biceps twitching as she strains to hold herself up. Chad - the latest in a long line of physical therapists - stands on the other side of the contraption, one hand wound through the thick strap cinched around her middle.

"Mr. Castle," Chad exclaims, his tone almost as forced as his grin. "How wonderful to see you! Captain, isn't it great that your husband came to watch -"

"Go away."

The chill in her voice makes him shiver even in the warmth of the therapy room. Pulling himself up to his full height, Castle shakes his head.

"No."

For six months, he has watched from a distance - a distance she put him at - as she's struggled and cried and fell. One hundred and eighty-two days of holding his breath and his tongue. No more.

He's done.

"Leave, Castle." Her body trembles between the bars and he sees Chad tighten his grip.

"You want me to leave?" He jabs a finger toward the ground, pointing at some line he's drawn in the imaginary sand. If she crosses it, they have a chance. If not - He'll think about that only when he has to. "Come over here and make me."

"Are you kidding me?" The combination of anger and bewilderment in her voice spurs him on. He'll take anything that isn't silence. "You want to pick a fight now?"

"Seems like the perfect time to me," he smirks, hating himself for every word. "It's not like you're going anywhere."

He hears Chad's sharp inhale but refuses to acknowledge it, keeps his gaze trained on his wife. Beckett stares back at him. A rogue tear leaks from the corner of her right eye and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away. To cup his hands around her face and kiss her until they both forget it all. All the pain and the fighting and the awful, awful silence.

"We can do this later," she chokes, her voice thick and elbows starting to bow out with the effort of holding herself upright. "At home."

The bitterness in his laugh doesn't have to be manufactured this time. "At home? We don't have a home anymore. We have a room where you hide and a room where I sit and worry about you. That's not a home."

"I'm doing the best I can here, Castle."

"Bullshit." Her head rocks back and he presses on. "You're not even trying. You don't want to. You don't want to get better because then you'd have no justifiable reason for your goddamn neverending pity party."

Maroon stains her cheeks. He wants to gasp when she moves first her left leg then her right. He wants to cheer when she does it again, inching closer to him in jerky steps. Chad moves along with her, his usual stream of platitudes and encouragement dammed by shock.

"You think I don't want to get better?" She keeps her eyes locked on his as she pitches forward, her legs moving her body for the first time in half a year. "You think I don't want to be able to myself again? I hate this. I hate being broken and useless. I can't walk. I can't work. I can't even go to the goddamned bathroom by myself. You think I don't _want_ to get better? " With two final heavy steps, she teeters to a stop at the end of the bars. "Then fuck you, Rick."

Loosening his stance, Castle steps forward and wraps his fingers around the smooth ends of the parallel bars. Her eyes go wide when his thumbs brush over the backs of hands and she looks up at him, chin trembling. Salt scratches at his lips when he presses them to the crease between her eyebrows.

"Fuck you too, Kate," he whispers and she lets out a watery laugh, her breath a warm breeze against his neck.

Chad clears his throat. "You ready to go again, Captain?"

Kate takes a deep breath and nods. Castle moves to the side and Chad helps her turn around. She takes her first halting step and looks over at him, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Go stand over there," she says nodding toward the other end of the course. "I need a visible goal."

"Aw," Castle coos, pressing a hand to his chest. "You want to see man you love."

"No." Kate shakes her head and takes a step, Chad moving along at her side. "I want to see the man whose ass I'm going to kick once I'm back in control of my legs."

All three of them laugh and Castle positions himself at the other end of the bars. He locks eyes with Kate and she starts to walk. Her steps are slow and unsteady but she doesn't stop. She doesn't quit. She keeps coming at him, determination written across her face.

Castle feels the pressure in his chest dissipate with each inch of progress, his lungs expanding to their full capacity for the first time since the morning he got the call. When she reaches the end of the bars and tells Chad she wants to go again, he finally gives himself permission to believe what the doctors have been telling him all along.

She's going to be okay.

They're going to be okay.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated._


	5. be not sick too late, nor well too soon

_3\. Please don't leave._

The white plastic bags crinkle against his leg and Castle shifts, fingers burning from the weight. He raises his free hand to knock before he can talk himself out of it. Twenty seconds pass and the angry bees in his chest stir, leave him vibrating. He knocks again, harder this time. Louder.

The door swings open just as he's rejecting his fifth plan of how to successfully break in without winding up shot.

"Castle?" Beckett croaks out his name, her voice somehow both thick and broken. Pink skin rims her nose and he can see the tail of a wadded up ball of tissues poking out the side of her fist. "What are -?"

She breaks off into a coughing fit, her body folding almost in half with the intensity. He slips over the threshold and she glares up at him. The red cheeks and dark circles under her watery eyes detract from the usual blood curdling effect and he grins.

Castle busies himself at her kitchen counter. He unpacks the bags, stacking up tubs of soup and boxes of medicine and crinkly little packages of tissues, imagining it as some sort of fort of good intentions that can ward off the weight of her weakened yet still powerful scowl.

The coughing subsides and Beckett shuts the door, her full body weight sagging against it as she focuses on him. "What are you doing here?"

Castle sweeps his arm toward the counter to show off his loot. "I would think that should be pretty obvious even to your fever addled brain, Beckett."

She sniffs, scrubbing the wad of tissues against her nose before stuffing them into the pocket of her ratty bathrobe. He appraises her as she pushes off the door and shuffles toward him. Greasy hair pulled up into a messy bun, flannel pajama pants that hang off her slender hips, and a faded NYU t-shirt that he would bet has a hole in at least one of the armpits.

He's never seen her like this before. He's seen her without her armor, without the security of her badge and gun, but even then there was something - Something strong and impenetrable about her. Otherwordly. But this -

This is _human_. Painfully so.

It makes his heart ache.

"Did you buy out the entire pharmacy, Castle?" She shuffles over to the kitchen and sinks down onto a stool at the island. He can hear wheezing from five feet away. "What the hell is all this?"

He pushes up his sleeves and flourishes his hands toward the counter. "This, Detective, is the Rick Castle Flu Killer Kit." Her left eyebrow inches toward her sweaty hairline and he waves her off. "Title is a work in progress. But what we have here is basically everything you could ever want in your battle against the dreaded influenza." He points to the different boxes and bottles as he lists them off. "You've got DayQuil, NyQuil, Vicks Vaporub, ibuprofen, TheraFlu, Robitussin, and cough drops of both the mentholated and non variety."

Beckett drops her head into her hand and looks up at him through heavy lids.

"Moving on from the medicinal -" he takes a step to the left and does his best Vanna White impression in front of the next pile - "we have foodstuffs, starting with soups and sports drinks, both in a variety of flavors. Not feeling soup? How about some saltine crackers? Crackers not doing it for you?" He picks up a tub and wiggles it seductively in her direction. "I'll bet some Ben and Jerry's would do wonders for that sore throat."

Her free hand lifts, fingers curling in and out in a childlike gesture of desire. Castle pops the lid off the pint of Strawberry Cheesecake and passes it over. The trip from the store to her apartment has left the ice cream a little soupy and he swallows hard as she leans forward and puckers her lips against the rim, sipping at the melted puddle on top. She closes her eyes and hums and the shock of pure arousal that flickers across his nerve endings makes the hair on his arms stand at attention.

"Spoon," she rasps.

Castle gropes behind himself for the silverware drawer, unwilling to look away. He grabs the first thing he finds, a fat and round soup spoon, and hands it to her. Her brow furrows when she swallows and the desire heating his blood cools in an instant.

"What's over there?" She points the spoon toward the last of his troves, cheesecake flavored ice cream dripping onto the island.

"Only the most important part of any convalescence, Detective." Castle steps to the side and presents the bounty with his best The Price Is Right model arm movements. "Entertainment."

"Oh my god, Castle. How many DVDs did you buy?"

"I'll have you know that all of these come lovingly and gently used from my own personal library."

Her eyes squint as she reads the titles. "You had a copy of 'Fried Green Tomatoes'?"

"Two, actually. Alexis made me buy my own after I kept forgetting to give hers back." The corners of her mouth twitch and he pulls the dvd out of the stack. "What do you say, Beckett? Wanna watch a man get murdered and served as barbecue?"

She looks up at him, her glassy eyes clearing. "Why are you here, Castle? Why did you do all of this?"

He shrugs.

He can't give her the real answer. Not yet. Not while she's with another man. He won't do that.

"Just wanted to make sure you had everything you need. I know Josh is -" Castle shrugs again. "I know how much it sucks to be alone when you're sick."

Beckett slides off the stool, her slippered feet hitting the floor with a soft thwump. The loose belt of her robe sways as she turns toward the living room, ice cream tucked tight to her chest. She flops onto the couch, folding her body into one corner.

"We're skipping the part with the train."

* * *

The ice cream sits on the coffee table, nothing left but sticky bits of strawberry glued to the sides. The movie plays and Castle only half pays attention as Mary Stuart Masterson carries a jar of fresh honey across a field. He steals another glance at the other end of the couch. Beckett lays on her side, head resting on a Union Jack pillow and feet nestled underneath his left thigh. Her eyelids flutter in her sleep and he smiles, his heart so full that he thinks it might actually burst.

"You remind me of Idgie."

Castle jumps, hand flying to his chest. "Jesus, Beckett. I thought you were asleep."

She hums. "Bee charmer." Her lips curl just at the corners. "Both of you."

He has no words for that.

* * *

The credits roll over the final scene and Castle stretches, his neck popping as he rolls it from side to side. He sits forward, careful not to crush the feet still tucked securely under his leg. Beckett coughs in her sleep and he stands up.

"Don't."

Castle turns back, finds her looking at him through one cracked lid.

"What?"

"Please don' leave." Her words are slurred and thick and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to stride back over to the couch and scoop her into his arms.

"I'm not," Castle assures her in soft voice. "I'm just going to get you some medicine."

Beckett nods and lets her eye slip shut again.

Castle grabs the bottle of NyQuil and a Gatorade from the kitchen then stands in front of the small tower of DVD cases, deliberating.

"Tom Hanks." Her voice barely makes it across the room. "I like him."

With a smile, he pulls 'You've Got Mail' from the stack. He likes Tom Hanks too.

It's a good start.


End file.
